


don't leave me hollow (i'm tired)

by firefall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Closure, Communication, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Like FINALLY Some Communication, Lovers to Friends, Post-Series, Stakeout, exploding fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefall/pseuds/firefall
Summary: The last time Malia talked to Stiles, he had his bottom lip bitten between his teeth trying to keep silent as she pulled a giant shard of glass from his shoulder.  The Desert Wolf was long gone and Braeden was packing up her weapons and Stiles had looked up at Malia with wide brown eyes, the slightest wetness gathered in the corners, and said, “Thank you.”Then, “I’m glad you’re okay.”Then, “Let’s go find Scott.”And that was pretty much it.It takes a while, but Stiles and Malia finally get closure.





	don't leave me hollow (i'm tired)

**Author's Note:**

> Raise your hand if it's 2018 and you're still pissed at how dirty they did stalia! *raises both hands so hard my back cracks* So here's the closure they deserved.
> 
> Warnings: just swearing. That's it.
> 
> Title is from "Lonely Nation" by Switchfoot.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf and am not profiting off this work. All characters belong to Jeff Davis and MTV aka the devil.

The last time Malia talked to Stiles, he had his bottom lip bitten between his teeth trying to keep silent as she pulled a giant shard of glass from his shoulder. The Desert Wolf – because there was no way in _hell_ Malia was ever thinking of that psychopath as her mother, thank you very much – was long gone and Braeden was packing up her weapons and Stiles had looked up at Malia with wide brown eyes, the slightest wetness gathered in the corners, and said, “Thank you.”

Then, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Then, “Let’s go find Scott.”

And that was pretty much it.

They weren’t on bad terms per se – they weren’t even actively avoiding each other – but Malia had decided somewhere between removing her toothbrush from Stiles’ bathroom and forcing herself to breathe as she watched Stiles’ and Lydia’s shoulders bump together at the lunch table that some space would do her well. Stiles must have thought the same, because he approached her about supernatural threats or nothing at all.

Usually nothing at all.

It hurt like hell but then Stiles was gone, erased by the ghost riders, and things like breakups and betrayal didn’t matter anymore. Everything took a backseat to getting their best friend – and Malia’s anchor – back. And somehow they did. Somehow they managed to scrounge up one last iota of good luck and save Stiles and the rest of Beacon Hills, too.

Oddly enough, that was the turning point. Because Malia would rather have Stiles back and joined at the hip with Lydia than not have him at all. He was still her anchor and the first person to make her feel human again, after all.

But then there was Monroe and there was war and there was Scott. Scott and the overwhelming feeling of protectiveness that accompanied him, blooming hot and almost painful in Malia’s chest. Jumping between Scott and a spray of bullets was different from holding Stiles while he slept, but still the same, somehow. They both felt right. And no matter how silly Malia thought it was, she knew humans only let you pick one right thing, so she picked Scott and didn’t look back.

But now she’s hunkered down beneath the covered bridge with Stiles, sitting close enough that she can feel the heat of him through her t-shirt, and she feels a little bit like she’s going out of her mind. They haven’t said more than five sentences since they began the stakeout, more than _tell me if you hear anything_ and _holy shit it’s freezing out here_ and _stupid fucking fairies_ , and it serves to amplify the distance between them.

It sucks.

Normally Malia would be paired off with Scott or Liam, but the fairies they’re dealing with flicker like the flash bolts Argent loves so much and after several unfortunate instances of being struck half blind, they decided every were-creature needed a human partner just in case. So here they are, Stiles and Malia, like some kind of math problem that’s impossible to solve. 

Almost two years older and an inch taller, Stiles is still Stiles and he can’t sit still for long, wriggling around in the dirt and sending a deep ache burrowing through Malia’s bones every time his knee knocks against hers. Things are different now and that’s okay, but, truth be told, she misses him. Not as a boyfriend, but as a friend.

She’d really, really like to be his friend again.

When his elbow presses against her side, making her jump, she just can’t take it anymore. “ _Stiles_ ,” she snaps, like muscle memory. “Unless you’re three seconds from pissing yourself I can’t think of a single reason you need to be squirming this much.”

His body goes rigid. “Sorry,” he says and Malia can smell the sheepishness in it. “Don’t gotta piss, just—hate waiting for things to happen.”

The annoyance drains out of Malia’s body in a second, replaced by a hopeless wave of fondness. “I know,” she says quietly. She looks down at her hands where they’re folded together in her lap, studiously refusing to look up at him. She’s afraid of what might be written on her face. “Puts you on edge, don’t it?”

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes out a gust of air that’s half sigh, half laugh. “But you knew that.”

“I know a lot of things about you, Stiles.”

Malia’s cheeks heat up as it hangs in the air. But before she can do something stupid like rip her hair out or run away screaming, Stiles makes a tiny hurt noise in the back of his throat and turns his body so he’s facing her, his eyes boring into the side of her face. “Can you look at me, please?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. “I know I don’t deserve it, but—please.”

It’s not at all what Malia expected and she finds herself obeying, staring at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I know that I hurt you, okay?” Stiles says, his heart racing loudly in Malia’s ears. “You were always there for me and I _hurt_ you and that’s not fair. Like, I know the Donovan thing had me all fucked up, but I should’ve been able to look outside myself just one fucking time and see things for what they were. See _you_ for what you were.” He swallows hard. “Because you knew what I had done and you didn’t leave. You probably never would’ve left, would you? If I hadn’t left you first.”

The question slams into Malia’s chest like a semi-truck but she somehow manages to keep her voice steady when she answers, feeling the truth of it like a twisting sickness in her stomach, “I promised to never leave you behind.” She gives him a small smile. “I meant it.”

Stiles ducks his head, the air suddenly permeated with stinging pain and self-loathing. It’s far too familiar a scent, brings back way too many memories of Malia’s arms tucked around sharp hipbones and her nose pressed to the back of a freckled neck, and it makes Malia curl her hands into fists against the onslaught of emotion. “Gosh, Malia,” Stiles says, breathes it. “I know it’s too little too late, but I wish I would’ve done things differently. I wish I would’ve done right by you, like you always did for me.”

It’s an awful lot of pretty words, words Malia has dreamed about hearing for nearly two years now, but she doesn’t miss what’s absent. He doesn’t regret breaking up with her. Just the way he went about it.

Months ago that would’ve sent Malia into a rage-filled – or perhaps tear-filled – spiral, but now all she can think about is Scott’s fingers linked with hers and the bright-eyed way Lydia gazes at Stiles when she thinks no one is looking, and Malia feels…remarkably okay with the whole thing. She’s survived berserkers and hunters and her own psychopathic fucking mother, she can survive this.

As if he can read her thoughts, Stiles gives her a self-deprecating smile and says, only slightly joking, “Well, I guess you traded up in the end, huh?”

Comparing the people you choose to face life with and finding certain ones lacking is such a human thought process, Malia can’t help but huff in annoyance. Her eyes flicker blue for a split second and she bursts out, unable to keep it inside, “Stiles, I _loved_ you!”

The night falls into a stunned silence as Stiles stares at her, mouth partly open like he can’t catch his breath. Even the crickets stop chirping just for a minute, shocked by her outburst. Then, voice so quiet Malia has to dig into the depths of her supernatural hearing just to make it out, Stiles murmurs, “You never told me.”

Malia shrugs, thinks about kisses and handcuffs and the basement of Lydia’s lake house and says, “I didn’t think I had to.”

That’s all it takes for Stiles’ face to crumble, sheer misery etched into the cut of his cheekbones, his jaw. “You didn’t,” he admits, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “And I—I loved you, too.”

This isn’t what the stakeout is for. The stakeout is for catching explosive fairies and hopefully determining whether they’re friend or foe, not for retroactive love confessions and tearing open those old wounds inside Malia that had just barely healed over. So, her hand shaking, she loops her fingers gently around Stiles’ wrist and says, “It doesn’t matter.” At Stiles’ blink of surprise, Malia just nods and crashes on with the same impulsivity she’s never been able to shake, “We’re different now and that’s _good_. And you’re happy where you are, right?”

“Yeah.” A smile tugs at the corner of Stiles’ mouth, shaky but there. “Definitely.”

“Me, too,” Malia tells him. “But I can’t do _this_ anymore.” She gestures between herself and Stiles, hoping the wave of her hand encompasses over a year of awkward silence and tiptoeing around each other. “I want to be your friend, Stiles. Because as stupid as it sounds, I don’t think I’m ready to be without you.”

“That’s not stupid,” Stiles says and before Malia can move, he tugs her in close to drape an arm around her shoulders. It feels strangely like coming home, like walking into her bedroom after two months at Eichen or eight years in the woods, and it’s all Malia can do not to burst into tears. She rests her head on his shoulder, too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “Our lives fucking _suck_ , but they suck a whole lot less when we have each other.”

“Damn right.”

They sit in silence for a while, eyes peeled for glowing intruders and their breath syncing up as they lean heavily against each other. Scott will text at any minute to call the stakeout to a close, will probably say something dumb about getting the kids home in time for curfew, but for now Malia tucks her head beneath Stiles’ chin and finally says what’s been on her mind since the day he closed the car door behind him: “You’re still my anchor. That’s not gonna change.”

“I wouldn’t want it to,” he says and it’s a promise she trusts him to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!!!!!!!


End file.
